


Your Jersey Says #9, But You're A Solid Ten for Me

by forty_Marris_pies



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is Whipped, Basketball Player John, How Do I Tag, M/M, Tench is Barely There, Until he Meets a Real One, alex is a player, what is wrong with my tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 18:49:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forty_Marris_pies/pseuds/forty_Marris_pies
Summary: Prompt that I made up as I was eating dinner with my family: I went to a basketball game to flirt with the cheerleaders but I ended up crushing on one of the guys on the team.I kind of just… left my full plate of food on the table and ran off to write this down…"Curly hair, strong build, nice legs, tight shorts, and oh my god, are those freckles?! He doesn’t hear the blonde chick ask him about his piercings; he’s too focused on somehow finding number nine after the game and taking him to a hotel. There’s a moment when the match is about to begin where number nine locks eyes with Alexander and by then he’s positive his heart just melted."





	Your Jersey Says #9, But You're A Solid Ten for Me

**Author's Note:**

> Barely edited, read over a couple times, just the way I like it! Also, cheesy title is cheesy.
> 
> And if you know me from my other Hamilton fanfic, not to worry! I'm sorry, I can't apologize enough for the delays recently, but I can promise to have the next chapter up by Wednesday! Thank you for your patience.

 

Alexander was the kind of guy to sweep all the women off their feet. And for good reason, of course. His looks, his charm, not to mention his incredible brain. The girls flocked to him, the guys despised him, and the teachers praised him. He might have a week where he’d go out with a girl, and by Sunday afternoon, he’d cut it off with her. He might have a month where he’d stay with another, who’d unfortunately allow her imagination to run wild, only to be let down on the 30th when he broke things off and went out to look for someone more exciting.

It was just for fun, though. He made it a point to express to his dates that he wasn’t searching for something permanent; and yet, it always seemed to end in a girl with tears in her eyes and a face of betrayal.

He just ended it with a brunette, he thinks her name was Jennifer, he wasn’t quite sure. What he was sure of, however, was that the pretty blonde girl from the café down the street was a cheerleader on the basketball team. She, twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes, had invited him to a game while she leaned over the counter and whispered into his ear. He had chuckled, in that deep voice that drives the ladies crazy, and gladly accepted.

Choosing his wardrobe, a pair of ripped jeans and a black, long-sleeve shirt, Alexander stepped out into the chilly city to visit the girl, who would presumably be wearing a short, tight skirt. He tied his hair into a messy bun, it was a look the women adored, and shaved the excess hairs of his stubble. Although he was close to shivering, all the jackets he owned would clash with his shirt, and Alexander was not the type of guy to mess up his style.

The gym was crowded, noisy, bright, and frankly, too excited for a basketball game. Occasionally, there would be an uproar of shouting from one side of the bleachers, which was a bit annoying, considering the game hadn’t even started yet.

As he was about to sit down next to an old lady losing the battle with her nephews, he spotted the blonde girl waving from the first row of the bleachers. She smiled, and made a signal for him to come closer. Walking down, in his mind, he was trying to remember the name on her tag. _Christina? Clarita? I think it was Clarita. No, wait, I’m thinking about the one from February._

“Hey, silly!” She laughed, making sure to grab the attention of her fellow cheerleaders. “I’m glad you made it, Alex. I can call you Alex, right?”

_Crap, she remembers my name. Now it’ll be worse if I didn’t know hers_. “Alex is fine, I don’t mind. Especially if it’s you.”

The other cheerleaders giggle, silently falling for his charm.

“You look good, by the way,” he adds. “And all the other lovely ladies do too.”

They laugh even harder, but the blonde girl suppresses her frown. “I, uh, I’m going to be performing a full set during halftime, if you wanna stick around for that.”

He runs his hand over his hair, another classic Hamilton move to charm the girls. Judging by their perpetual smiles and shy gazes, it was working. “And why would I want to miss something like that?” To top that off, he flashes his trump card, a half grin and low chuckle, and he’s pretty sure he hears one of the girls sigh.

Suddenly, their attention is pulled towards the double doors on the other side of the gym, where the home team walks in. They have an air around them with so much intensity Alexander almost feels intimidated.

And then he spots number nine.

Curly hair, strong build, nice legs, tight shorts, and _oh my god, are those freckles?!_ He doesn’t hear the blonde chick ask him about his piercings; he’s too focused on somehow finding number nine after the game and taking him to a hotel. There’s a moment when the match is about to begin where number nine locks eyes with Alexander and by then he’s positive his heart just melted.

The poor blonde girl, realizing she’s not getting the attention she wants, starts cheering in an… obstructive way. Obstructive meaning she would flash her skirt right in front of Alexander, but more importantly, _right in front of number nine._ He can’t recall the last time he’s despised a girl this much, let alone for such petty reasons.

He moved seats twice, until finally giving up a couple minutes before halftime. Number nine, Laurens, had been exceptional in everything Alexander had the pleasure to witness. He would be quick with rebounds, sharp on blocks, considerate when passing the ball to teammates, and Alexander didn’t even like basketball. Whenever nine would score points, it was always Alexander who shot up first to cheer.

And god, those legs. The way his muscles stretched with every move, his sweat dripping almost obscenely onto the ground, it outright murdered Alexander. He wondered if the subject of his gaze could feel his eyes practically eating him. He wished he would turn around again so that he could admire the loose locks of hair swaying as he played.

_Oh shit_ , he thought. _Is this how the girls feel about me? Poor things._

Suddenly, he heard a shout from a few people on the court. Turning to figure out the reason for commotion, he was greeted with a hit from a rogue basketball.

A direct hit. To his face.

He has a few seconds to think, _oh, well that wasn’t so bad_ , until it really starts to kick in and he thinks, _oh_ _fuck me_.

“Oh shit, are you alright?” A heavenly soft voice.

“It’s all on you Laurens.” A teammate.

“Now you’ve done it, Laurens. Coach isn’t gonna like this.” Another one.

“Shut up, he looks really hurt!” Ah, the soft voice returned. “Hey, do you need help? Guys, what, stop standing there, get some help!” He knows that, if he takes his hand off his eyes, the next sight he sees will surely be the death of him. Still, Alexander was forced by two strong, warm hands to remove his own from comforting the sharp pain on his cheek. He vaguely thinks _that’s going to bruise_ but then, he can’t really think anymore, because standing before him was the hottest guy he’d ever laid eyes on.

Funniest part is, Alexander was pretty sure he was mostly straight.

“Oh geez,” Laurens hisses, and he wasn’t even the one in pain. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to throw the ball out if no one was there to catch it. Does it hurt?” He watches the sweat drip down the side of Laurens’ face, running over a sea of freckles on its way. He gets the sudden urge to lick him — _fucking lick him_ – and by now it’s apparent Alexander is not as straight as he thought.

Too busy admiring the concerned face in front of him, he almost forgets to respond to the question. “Uh, yeah, it stings a little –,” he starts, until Laurens presses a strong finger over his check, causing him to try and suppress a cry of pain.

“Laurens!” the coach yells, “get back on the court! Tilghman, take the injured kid to my office! Bring him some ice. And Laurens!” He turns to face number nine again, who returned to his position on the court, “you better apologize appropriately to the kid after the match! Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies, almost as though he were in the military.

And so, Tilghman escorted him to a room outside the gym and left him there for a minute before returning with a makeshift ice pack, a sandwich baggy with some cooler ice. The guy was nice enough, fretting about where Alexander put the ice pack, and gave him some tips on how to nurse the bruise later on. He went back to his seat on the bench, leaving Alexander to stress over having to see Laurens one last time. He couldn’t decide whether he was relieved it would be the last or whether he’d try and rope the guy in the same way he’d done it with the girls.

Speaking of which, the blonde chick – _Carla, now I remember, her name was Carla_ – came to visit him a few minutes before the match ended. She came over to pretend to worry over the increasingly obvious bruise forming on his face, but the fact that she kept leaning over trying to show off some cleavage made it pretty clear it didn’t really matter to her. She even offered to ‘kiss it’ to make it feel better, which would have been a terrible idea, since almost any type of pressure on it brought tears to his eyes. To make her intentions more apparent, she’d told him it was too bad he wasn’t able to watch her perform during halftime, since she was so looking forward to showing him a little extra. Whatever the hell that meant.

And he realized, this girl is just the worst. Just the worst. Not even concerned about his injury, asking him to watch another one of her performances, picking at the bluish tint on his cheek with her fucking long ass nails even though he keeps repeating to her that it _fucking hurts_. Finally, he tells her, “Look, Carla, I was nice enough to see you cheer today, but I know you want some type of… thing… with me, and that’s not gonna work out. You’re nice and all, but… you’re not for me.”

She stares at him, first with disbelief, then with anger. “You fucking prick!” She slaps him _in the same fucking spot where the bruise is_ and stands up from the seat. “I can’t believe you! I don’t want to see you ever again!”

“What the _fuck_!” he screeches, “You fucking bitch –”

“And my name is Christa, you asshole!” She opens the door, ready to walk out and slam the door, but she ends up bumping into Laurens, changed out of his uniform, who stares at Alexander bending over, trying to calm the throbbing on his cheek.

“Hey, what’s wrong! What happened?” He runs over to Alexander’s seat, kneeling down to see the injury up close.

Christa speaks up first. “This douch tried to hit on me and then hit on the other girls even though we didn’t want him to and I came over to see if he was doing okay and he fucking dumps me like we were already in a relationship!”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Alexander hisses, the tears overflowing from his eyes. “I told her I wasn’t interested and she slapped me!”

Laurens turns to her. “Christa, what the fuck.”

She gasps. “So you’re taking his side?!”

“You hit him! On his injury! You better believe I’m reporting this to your coach!”

She starts crying now, because _she’s the one in excruciating pain_ , and runs off to who knows where the spread rumors about who knows what. Laurens stays, grabs the melting ice pack from the floor, and returns his voice to that nice, concerned volume he used on the court. “Hey, hey, here. I know it hurts, but c’mon, let me just put this ice on it.”

Alexander reluctantly removes his hands from his face, allowing Laurens to softly dab the ice on his cheek. “God, that freaking hurt,” he comments, trying to fill in the silence in the room.

Laurens smiles at him, and so close to Alexander that he can feel his breath. “Yeah, I can imagine. Christa’s always like that though. And don’t worry, I believe you. You don’t look like someone who’d lie about that.”

Alexander can’t help but blush (and Alexander does not blush), so he ducks his head a little. It’s amazing how one guy can short circuit his brain from just smiling. He feels like his body is on fire, and for a moment, he forgets about the pain. Laurens keeps his gaze on him, and stares up and down. Checking him out.

“You were really good, you know. A-At the game. I mean, I don’t watch basketball regularly, but you were working up… quite a sweat…” He stops, overcome by the sudden closeness of Laurens’ gaze. His face heats up so fast he’s sure the ice is turning into water by now.

Laurens chuckles, oh my god, and places his other hand on Alexander’s other cheek. “We lost the game, though. 48 to 87.”

Now he feels like an idiot. “O-oh. I, um, I’m sorry. You guys were really good. Can’t believe… you lost…”

“Well, someone was really distracting,” Laurens says, caressing his cheek with his thumb. “My team wants to go out and grab something to eat after this, but,” he leans impossibly closer, “I don’t really want to.”

Alexander smirks, and teasingly backs his head away. His face is still flushed, but he’s gained more confidence and a little bit of his sanity. “So where do you plan on going after this?”

Laurens closes the distance, pressing a long, slow, wet kiss onto Alexander’s accepting lips. “I was hoping you would answer that for me.”

He felt giddy, like a young little school girl after holding hands with a pretty boy. He’s almost positive his expression just screams ‘totally whipped’ and he can’t help but think, _yeah, that pretty much describes me right now._ Now, most people would believe a kiss was too early and inappropriate at this moment, but Alexander feels its come much too late. He’s up in the clouds, and nothing, not even the pain in his cheek can bring him down from the high.

He kisses him again, this time wrapping his arms around a guy who just sweat for forty minutes straight. _Hah, straight_. He couldn’t care less. Alexander sighed into the kiss, which morphed into a make out session pretty quickly. Laurens littered wet kisses down his neck, finding a clean spot of flesh and sucking on it. “A gift,” he explains.

“…Didn’t get your name,” Alexander sighs, dreamy-eyed.

Laurens looks like he completely ignored the fact he just made out with a stranger. “Oh! Right. I’m John, John Laurens. And you, baby?”

_Oh gosh why do you do this to me, what did I do to deserve this?_ “Alexander Hamilton.”

“Where are you going to take me, Alex?”

“Excuse me, who’s the one that threw a ball at my face?”

Laurens relented. “You’re right. Let’s go. I’ll pay.”

It’s funny, Alexander thinks, how crazy the situation was. He’d never fallen so hard before, never thought he could. Then again, he never thought he wasn’t straight, either.

They walk out of the office and leave the gym, on the way, running into Tilghman, who sees their close proximity and whistles. “Damn, Laurens. I thought you were kidding when you said you thought he was cute.”

Laurens doesn’t falter. “Shut up, Tench, you agreed with me.”

Apparently, the girls weren’t the only ones who fell for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Christa, what the fuck.


End file.
